"We’re speaking of love and money here – love, money, and desire. We’re investing now, investing in something that will pay off down the road in the bigger picture. Just keep putting the creativity and generosity to work. Do it gladly. If you can’t do it gladly, it’s not the gift or investment you need to give now. Wait a bit, then try again."
- Weekly Forecast: September 11-15, 2017, Satori
Nightbird written by Alice Hoffman is a story of magic; just the sort of story I needed to sweeten the sometimes quivering sense of uncertainty that leaves me jelly legged. I think of not quite firm Jell-O the kind you can slurp. I count down, or slurp down from 5-4-3-2-1-to Zero (Thanks for this trick, Jude) and the uncertainty takes off at least temporarily like those Yellow Jackets launching with payload of turkey. With a little good distraction, my investment into a day of my choosing equals out. Nightbird is a story about a family; a girl of twelve named Twig (her nickname) and her mother who is a tip top baker. Pies especially. Pink Apple Pie a specialty. The girl Twig and her mother keep a secret and they keep to themselves; they just want to be themselves. The price is isolation, and that's a price this family decides they'll not keep paying.
I finished reading Nightbird late yesterday just before Pete and I sat on the picnic bench with our friends who have shared their land and their lives with us for more than seven years. We have paid a very modest rent we could afford and filled in with care taker tasks, fix-ems and meals handed over at the front gate. We have become family and yesterday we had pie and applesauce with ice cream for dinner. It was a very special occasion; a time to acknowledge investments of give-and-take over time.
When I was diagnosed with Environmental Illness I was told, " "There is no cure for this, there are things that will help. You'll have to avoid everything that makes you sick. It will change your life. This is called MCS Multiple Chemical Sensitivies, or Environmental Illness." We built the golden wagon of a home we call Vardo for Two as a medically-safe bedroom on wheels so if we had to, or wanted to, we could move. The years of 'investment' we have made on Whidbey Island has grown us in unexpected ways, stretching our tolerances and our natal forms of relating. More than anything, our years on Whidbey have stretched our definitions of community and in the process we have become less isolated, with practice. Isolation can be one of the most devastating affects of EI.
Our friends and land owners who shared their lives and land with us have accommodated and responded to the frequent morphing symptoms of Environmental Illness with grace. They have waited to do things, permitted me to prune headed-scented blossoms during the Spring, and agreed to using a No-VOC paint on their home, don't burn wood and never use pesticides. Countless other 'gives' added up over seven years. We live on the edges of the wood and now on the edge of the driveway with an ever present and appreciative parallel universe. We live yards apart, safe in the knowledge that few, if any, ill-resulting choices will cross between the gates. Yesterday over dessert for dinner we gathered in that space of amazing grace that is the stuff of gospels. Indeed, how sweet it was to know that as we process our good-byes there is pono harmony. Thank you both so much. Yes, "Let's call it even."
And today after we enjoyed breakfast out. Pete told me about his Magic Penny Mouse Hole. I couldn't let the story go unrecorded. Here you are, "Magic Penny Mouse Hole" in Three-Parts.
Thank you for investing in us as we invest more in: magic, grace and humor
- Weekly Forecast: September 11-15, 2017, Satori
A new book arrived for me at the library the other day. It's been months since I'd reserved a book to read. The business of believing in a dream and juggling the challenges, success and insights has been a full time job. I was sitting in the car in the Star Store parking lot waiting for Pete to get back from his errands: the post office and the library. Above the roofs of parked cars I spotted his long lean self and his GO OUTSIDE cap. With up-raised arms he spotted me spotting him. I saw the cover of my new book in his hand. I was Kid Glad to see them both.
Nightbird written by Alice Hoffman is a story of magic; just the sort of story I needed to sweeten the sometimes quivering sense of uncertainty that leaves me jelly legged. I think of not quite firm Jell-O the kind you can slurp. I count down, or slurp down from 5-4-3-2-1-to Zero (Thanks for this trick, Jude) and the uncertainty takes off at least temporarily like those Yellow Jackets launching with payload of turkey. With a little good distraction, my investment into a day of my choosing equals out. Nightbird is a story about a family; a girl of twelve named Twig (her nickname) and her mother who is a tip top baker. Pies especially. Pink Apple Pie a specialty. The girl Twig and her mother keep a secret and they keep to themselves; they just want to be themselves. The price is isolation, and that's a price this family decides they'll not keep paying.
I finished reading Nightbird late yesterday just before Pete and I sat on the picnic bench with our friends who have shared their land and their lives with us for more than seven years. We have paid a very modest rent we could afford and filled in with care taker tasks, fix-ems and meals handed over at the front gate. We have become family and yesterday we had pie and applesauce with ice cream for dinner. It was a very special occasion; a time to acknowledge investments of give-and-take over time.
When I was diagnosed with Environmental Illness I was told, " "There is no cure for this, there are things that will help. You'll have to avoid everything that makes you sick. It will change your life. This is called MCS Multiple Chemical Sensitivies, or Environmental Illness." We built the golden wagon of a home we call Vardo for Two as a medically-safe bedroom on wheels so if we had to, or wanted to, we could move. The years of 'investment' we have made on Whidbey Island has grown us in unexpected ways, stretching our tolerances and our natal forms of relating. More than anything, our years on Whidbey have stretched our definitions of community and in the process we have become less isolated, with practice. Isolation can be one of the most devastating affects of EI.
Our friends and land owners who shared their lives and land with us have accommodated and responded to the frequent morphing symptoms of Environmental Illness with grace. They have waited to do things, permitted me to prune headed-scented blossoms during the Spring, and agreed to using a No-VOC paint on their home, don't burn wood and never use pesticides. Countless other 'gives' added up over seven years. We live on the edges of the wood and now on the edge of the driveway with an ever present and appreciative parallel universe. We live yards apart, safe in the knowledge that few, if any, ill-resulting choices will cross between the gates. Yesterday over dessert for dinner we gathered in that space of amazing grace that is the stuff of gospels. Indeed, how sweet it was to know that as we process our good-byes there is pono harmony. Thank you both so much. Yes, "Let's call it even."
One of the most valuable investments we, Pete and I, make as often as possible is to make each other laugh. Pete has Gemini (quirky!) Mars (action) and Mercury (thinking) in his natal make-up; that's astrology-speak for Leprechaun. Pete is Irish. And just for fun, here's a bit of Pete on video recorded when we thought about selling Scout the Subaru. Silly us!
And today after we enjoyed breakfast out. Pete told me about his Magic Penny Mouse Hole. I couldn't let the story go unrecorded. Here you are, "Magic Penny Mouse Hole" in Three-Parts.
Thank you for investing in us as we invest more in: magic, grace and humor
xoxo Mokihana and Pete
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